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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432952">Scratché</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxmanafterall/pseuds/hxmanafterall'>hxmanafterall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Daft Punk x Reader Short Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daft Punk, Electronic Dance Music RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2000s, Electronic music, F/M, French Characters, French Kissing, Friendship, Human Daft Punk, Love, Music, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:15:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxmanafterall/pseuds/hxmanafterall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>2009. Working for some musicians has never been so exhausting. The rest is history. Will she survive without any consequences?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Bangalter/Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, Thomas Bangalter/Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo/Reader, Thomas Bangalter/Other(s), Thomas Bangalter/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Daft Punk x Reader Short Stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cinespace.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, guys. I already know that these types of stories are not very appreciated in the fandom. But I would like to do something different and I have decided to create short stories of Reader with Daft Punk since there aren't too many. It is my first story in English so sorry if there's any mistake. (English is not my native language as you can see, lol)</p><p>--</p><p>Set at Pedro's Winter Birthday in Cinespace, LA. April 21 of 2009.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>April 21 of 2009. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cinespace Club, Los Angeles. </em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>Los Angeles looks better than ever. The streets of <em> Hollywood Blvd </em>are lit with powerful rays of sunlight. People walk slowly, contemplating urban views.</p><p> </p><p><em> The Cinespace </em>club, known as one of the best nightclubs to party, is hosting an enormous event tonight. It is Pedro Winter's birthday, and he has rented the place to celebrate it as he deserves.</p><p> </p><p>The party was almost ready if it wasn't for a kid that is running through the entire center of the place like a maniac. His brown long hair falls on his shoulders as he smiles with energy. It is obvious, kids are always exploring unknown things when something caught their attention, but this time was a little ironic. This isn't an appropriate place for a child. </p><p> </p><p>"What is he doing here?" Gaspard’s deep voice rumbles in place.  His dark brown curly hair falls onto his forehead. He adjusts his <em> Metallica </em>t-shirt and raises an eyebrow, looking at the tiny kid in annoyance.</p><p> </p><p>Pedro listens to the tall man's claims. He buttons the top button of his blue t-shirt.  His <em>almost blonde </em>hair can hardly be seen because of a few lights that illuminate the place. </p><p> </p><p>“Thomas was supposed to take care of him,” he responds. “I don’t know where he went. ”</p><p> </p><p>“Is he going to play tonight?”   </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Pedro nods, adding the last smile.  “It’s my birthday motherfucker, it’s obvious that I would ask him if he wanted to play. It will be epic. ”</p><p> </p><p>Xavier smiles ironically, holding a cigarette not yet consumed. His long black hair is not noticeable, but his<em> Levi's </em>denim jacket is. “Should we feel intimidated?” </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”  Pedro smiles, causing a laugh in the French duo.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, is just that---”  Gaspard responds by passing his tongue between his teeth after feeling something.  “Fuck, it’s <em> Daft Punk</em>, they are legendary. We are still two idiots that only have a bit of success.” </p><p> </p><p>“A bit of success?” Pedro adds. “Yeah, that’s why you both were nominated on the Grammy’s last year.” </p><p> </p><p>“We didn’t win,” Xavier says. “So it doesn’t matter” </p><p> </p><p>Pedro laughs, shaking his head.  He was too proud of <em> Justice</em>. He remembers the first time he met Xavier and Gaspard. They were only two university students, who composed music in their spare time, but did nothing serious. And now they were one of the best artists that <em> Ed Banger </em>could offer. He always admits that stopping managing <em> Daft Punk </em>was something difficult, but now he is living the best moments of his life.</p><p> </p><p>She listens to the conversation carefully. French people had always seemed very interesting. But it was just a myth. She has been working for <em> Busy P </em> at least for five days and the only thing she has learned is that: </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                                                                   1. French people smoke. Too much.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>     2.<em> Alcohol must always be present.  If it is red wine and vodka much better. </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She places the glass bottles of alcohol  <em> — </em> <em> Absolut Vodka, Baileys, Jack Daniel's, Bacardi, Guinness </em> <em> — </em>on a DJ booth. Several CD's appear in front of the end of a  table.  Her work was almost ready.  The only thing that she had to do is to check the guest list.  Or maybe, if the birthday cake was made of Pedro's favorite flavor. Nothing too demanding.</p><p> </p><p>The child runs with more energy. He collides onto the DJ booth, causing some bottles to hit the ground and stain her white blouse. She grumbles angrily. This child may not have been educated and probably didn’t know the value of buying clothes. But it took at least three weeks for her to buy that chiffon blouse she observed during the sales week. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What kind of father would leave his son alone? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What kind of father would allow his son to be in a nightclub full of alcohol, drugs, and craziness? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Oh, mon Dieu! </em>” A voice with a French accent interrupts her inner thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>And the answer was in front of her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>A tall man looks at her with concern. Sleeveless gray <em> Nike </em>t-shirt with white and pink letters. Black leather jacket. Straight dark jeans. And a shaved hair that hides his brownish curls. </p><p> </p><p>“Did he caused you too much trouble?”  His brown eyes light up and he smiles apologetically.  His yellow-brown sunglasses fall on the bridge of his nose as he crosses his arms, waiting for an answer.</p><p> </p><p>The movement of the tissue, that was trying to clean the huge stain on her chiffon blouse,  stops. She denies, not knowing what else to say.  Something about him was mysterious and hypnotizing, but she didn’t know why.  </p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm, no no---” smiles nervously.  “Not, really.” </p><p> </p><p>“Where did you go, Bangalter?” Pedro asks with curiosity.  He lights up a cigarette, forgetting that Thomas’s son was still there. </p><p> </p><p>“I was just checking something,”  He replies with an energetic smile. “Guy-Man is not coming tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Pedro asks with disappointment. “But why?” </p><p> </p><p>“You know… parenting issues. Apparently one of his sons is ill, and he is returning to Paris for a few days.” He states. “But don’t worry, he is coming back for the next party at your house.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay. That sounds better.” Pedro replies. “But I wish he could have been on my birthday.” </p><p> </p><p>Another man walks on. He is wearing an electric blue shirt and a cigarette in his mouth. He observes the scene with a grin. He had a prominent feeling that tonight's party would be amazing.</p><p> </p><p>“So, how old are you going to be, Pedro?” </p><p> </p><p>“Thirty-four.” </p><p> </p><p>Pedro responds with an embarrassed smile. It terrified him to know that there were only six years left to turn forty.  Time passed too quickly. Ten years ago he was only 24, and he was the manager of some young french duo called <em> ‘Daft Punk </em>’.</p><p> </p><p>“But don't you know that asking that is rude?” </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”  Kavinsky laughs. “You are still young, Pedro, there is nothing to worry about. And you always look so nice, with all those plaid shirts and your tight jeans.  It makes you look younger. If I was a woman, I’d probably fuck you and---”  </p><p> </p><p>She rolls her eyes. French humor seems ridiculous to her. There’s nothing funny about it. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Tara-Jay </em> is still in here, Vincent.” Thomas clarifies with a serious face. He holds his son’s long hair covering his ears. Hearing that was not a wonderful influence for the kid.</p><p> </p><p>“And why he is still here?” Kavinsky replies with a grin. “Don’t you know that nightclubs are not appropriate places for children to stay in?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes, yes---” He replies, trying to hide his embarrassment. Kavinsky was right. This wasn’t a clever idea from the start. “This week I had to take care of him. His mother and I have a weekly agreement. Unfortunately, it concurred with Coachella and Pedro's birthday. His mother is coming to pick out him soon. I'll take him to the airport and I'll be back in a little while.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Pedro says.  “This place isn’t appropriate for him.”</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>The club lights are barely visible. They only illuminate the DJ's that remain in the VIP area.</p><p> </p><p>Thomas walks away from the place, sticking his back against a chipped wall. He can feel the texture of his leather jacket on his slim arms. He watches how Gaspard and Xavier are trying to roll up a joint without avoiding to spread the weed on the floor. The last time they went to this club they were so drunk that they filled the ground with weed and the bodyguard wasn’t too pleased with that.</p><p> </p><p>A $500 fine, and two weeks without being able to enter the club, and everything was back to normal.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he wishes he had twenty- two again. Wandering around Los Angeles with his best friend Guy-Manuel, with those strange masks, and running away from that limousine that <em> Virgin Records </em>had prepared for them.  He would probably talk about all the adventures he and Guy had during the <em> Daftendirekt </em>tour. But he wasn't here. And he missed him. <em> A lot.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Oh, and<em> he also had hair during those times.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Abundant curly hair — inherited from his father, Daniel — that he used to hate. And now he was almost bald. He tries to hide it with weekly shaving, but it was still obvious that he was balding if anyone looked at it. He sighs in anguish after smelling the scent of weed from Xavier and Gaspard's joints.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe he was too old for this shit.  He used to enjoy night parties, but now he feels sleepy and strange.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Could it be, perhaps, a mid-life crisis? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>"Don't forget my Whiskey, sweetie"  A man orders a drink while he is lighting a <em> Marlboro's </em>cigarette. </p><p> </p><p>His blonde hair is darkened thanks to the black shades of the club. Blue eyes full of lust and a funny smile.  </p><p> </p><p>But no. She wasn't here to flirt with any strange French men.  She wanted to pay for the Master's Degree in Psychology that she was studying. Perhaps working for Pedro Winter, for a while, could give her some advantages to finish her studies in France.</p><p> </p><p>All that she wanted was to practice psychology in a private clinic and having a master's degree would give her access to it.</p><p> </p><p>“So-Me, don’t be a rat,”  Pedro replies with a frown. “She just finished her work and now she will enjoy the party for a little while.  She deserves it for working that hard.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should get going now.  I mean, I'm tired and---” </p><p> </p><p>“Won't you stay for a while?” Pedro suggests.  “I heard that you like Electronic Music. Is that right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well---” She rolls her eyes in embarrassment.  “It’s true. <em> Kraftwerk, The Chemical Brothers, Aphex Twin…  </em>But I don’t listen to it that often. ”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Excellent choices,” Pedro smiles. “Did you know that a member of <em>Daft Punk</em> is playing tonight?” He laughs. “But don’t say nothing yet, it’s a secret.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was that irresponsible father?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was that the man who was wearing a gray Nike sleeveless t-shirt with pink and white letters? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was he famous? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Was he one of the robots, from that famous duo, that hid his face under a helmet? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She had too many questions for so few answers.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The music bounces around all parts of the club. The screams of people are mixed with the ecstasy that those alcoholic drinks and those substances of dubious legal origin are causing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hello, guys. My name is DJ Mehdi, and we have a special guest. If you know who it is, good for you. If you don’t, go home.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A song with thunderous noises, as if the zipper of a jacket is opened and closed at the same time, sounds with energy. The screaming intensifies. Many people already claimed that the man that is in the DJ booth is one of the members of <em>Daft Punk</em>. And it becomes more obvious when Rollin '&amp; Scratchin' is playing on those huge speakers.</p><p> </p><p>She leans against the faded back wall, where the DJ booth is located, hiding from the crowd. She had never enjoyed being surrounded by too many people. It terrified her.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>But something catches her eye.</p><p> </p><p>That faded gray <em> Nike </em>t-shirt, those dark straight jeans, and that black leather jacket shine with intensity.  The French man moves his body so quickly that she can't help but feel trapped by those movements. She doesn't even remember the stain on her ruffled blouse.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head along to the beat of the music trying to erase those thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Since when did she behave like that?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But it doesn't help.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes trace exact lines back over the man's slim waist.  She looks at the top of his jeans, and the belt, with a metal closure, that holds them.  Perhaps the lightness of that Frenchman's body draws his attention irreparably.</p><p> </p><p>So-Me stands between his path, delving into the crowd, and letting her eyes rest for a while. Probably not looking at that French man, <em> of whom she doesn't even know more than he is a member of a very famous electronic duo</em>, would make her enjoy music much more. Well, she was looking to discover new artists to listen to in her studying sessions.</p><p> </p><p>She enjoys it for a while, but then the music stops suddenly. So-Me, who had tried to flirt with her, after asking her for a drink of Whiskey, takes the microphone connected to the <em> Pioneer </em>mixer, speaking with surprising energy.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “This is the last track, Pedro?”   </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Pedro nods with excitement. </p><p> </p><p>The music plays again.</p><p> </p><p>Now,  Prince's <em> Raspberry Beret </em>plays, driving everyone insane. The man smiles warmly after listening to the intro. He turns to the crowd behind him and smiles even more intensely. He jumps compulsively, letting his body move to the rhythm of the song.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was Thomas's favorite song. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It is like a compulsive cycle for her. She holds up his red plastic cup and sips a shot of red wine. She watches the energy of that mysterious man with a half-smile on her lips painted in a dark red color.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The <em>Hollywood Blvd</em> lights are even more charming at night. Her gaze is lost among the darkened sky. Her index finger is holding a cigarette, that Pedro gave her, and she sighs feeling the spring breeze.</p><p> </p><p>“You still haven't been able to wash the stain of your blouse?” </p><p> </p><p>Her trance stops.  She is watching that mysterious man again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Maybe for the ninetieth time? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He is wearing his dark leather jacket, hiding his thin arms. He rubs the palm of his hands and smiles gently. </p><p> </p><p>“No, not yet---”  She lets out a shy smile. “I was watching the show and I completely forgot about it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm,” Thomas sighs.  “Did you enjoy it?” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“A lot.”  She replies sipping her cigarette. Then she breathes out.  “It’s been a while since I went to a party or something like that.” </p><p> </p><p>“So, you don’t come here often?” </p><p> </p><p>“No. I don’t have too much free time lately.” </p><p> </p><p>“Do you work a lot?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m technically working now.” She replies hiding her smile. “But I’m a student. I’m working for Pedro for a few months to earn some money and pay for my Master’s degree.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s interesting,” Thomas adds feeling the breeze of the night.  “What are you studying?”</p><p> </p><p>“Psychology.” </p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to analyze my personality in secret?” He jokes with a nervous laugh.  “I’m not that interesting.” </p><p> </p><p>She wanted to think that. That he wasn’t so interesting. But for some strange reason, each dialogue they both shared made her interest in him grow even more. </p><p> </p><p>“Because in fact, I am so uninteresting, that I’m coming to apologize for the previous scene of my son.” Thomas laughs.  “It’s being something difficult to me. My wife and I just divorced and we still don't know how to complement each other to take care of Tara-Jay.  I hope that blouse wasn’t very expensive.”  </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine.” She responds with a shy smile. “I will try to wash it when I get home.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Awkward silence is drawn between them. Thomas plays with his sunglasses and then places them over the top of his <em> Nike </em>shirt. She just finishes her cigarette while looking at the sky with a nervous attitude.</p><p> </p><p>"I haven't even told you my name"  He interrupts the strange silence between them. “I’m Thomas.”  He exchanges a handshake with her. “Nice to meet you.” </p><p> </p><p>“My pleasure.” </p><p> </p><p>The man smiles one last time and vanishes into the shadows of the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Garden's Evening.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Los Angeles houses are immense. Almost like those mansions she used to visualize on television. And the house that Pedro Winter had rented for these months fell into that category: A house of two plants, with eight bedrooms, a spacious living room that includes a 72-inch television, a Surround Stereo system, various decoration paintings, and a huge garden where the parties took place.</p>
  <p><br/>
</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She plays with the string bracelet on her left wrist, delving into his inner thoughts.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She hasn't felt too comfortable since she started working for the founder of<em> Ed Banger Records.</em> The whole day was summed up in crazy parties, drugs circulating from one place to another, red plastic cups scattered on the ground, vomiting in the corners of a garden lawn, and several people experiencing the symptoms of a painful hangover.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She cannot understand how the party starts again the next day as if nothing had happened.</p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>She turns to one side of the sofa when a couple sits on the right side without asking for permission. They hold alcoholic drinks that contain the most expensive champagne Pedro bought for the party.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hands that run down the woman's thighs until two lips meet passionately.</p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p><em>‘Oh. It's great to remember loneliness again.</em>’ She thinks. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She gets up agitatedly when the kisses of that couple turn into hands that go through the clothes of both of them.  She grimaces in disgust and heads to a rectangular table containing drinks. Maybe drinking a little would make her useless job more enjoyable.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>No. Don't get her wrong.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She had never liked alcohol, and she used to avoid it on any occasion.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>But once a year it doesn't hurt, right? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Her hands navigate between bottles of whiskey, vodka, cold beer, red French wine, and bottles of <em>Moët &amp; Chandon</em> champagne. She finds a bottle of cherry liquor and serves herself quickly.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She hopes that her white striped t-shirt won't stain again like her blouse. She leans her back against a white wall and slowly sips the liquor as she shakes her head to the beat of that aggressive electronic music.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"How long have you been without smoking one of these?" A familiar voice calls out in amusement.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Well. It’s been a while.” A man responds.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Do you remember exactly when was the last time?" Another man, with a notable French accent, intervenes. He shakes his head madly as he identifies that one track that <em>DJ Mehdi </em>is playing is from<em> Justice</em>.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Twelve years ago." The other Frenchman replies by hiding a small plastic bag over his bottom pocket. “Guy and I used to buy these things in the dark alleys of the clubs. It was fun for a while, but then my wife’s pregnancy and the parenthood came and I never went back to...”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“So, you became a boring man?” A third man asks. “Were you like those shitty retired men that all that they do is mow the lawn?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Don't say that, Gaspard!" Pedro replies "When you become a father you will probably remember these words."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Me?” Gaspard points at himself ironically “A fucking father?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"That is a good joke, Pedro," Xavier says laughing with energy while he holds a pack of rolling papers. "He doesn't even know how to cook a fucking burger. The last time he tried to do it, the kitchen almost went up in flames."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"There you have the answer. I could never be a father." Gaspard responds.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Her spine sits up a little straighter on the wall.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She recognizes that shy voice.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She recognizes that leather jacket with slits on the top of the sleeves.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>It’s him. Again. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“So, should we smoke a joint now?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Are you sure you want to do this, Thomas?” Pedro rolls his eyes without being sure of this idea. “I know that you are having a hard time with the divorce and all the stuff that you have to... “</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Thomas's brown eyes become melancholic. Two months ago, he was holding his wife's hand and now he was at a party full of twenty-something who just wanted to have a great time.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It wasn't nice to be reminded again that he had divorced the woman he thought he loved.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>In some way, he still does.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I’m just saying that smoking weed to relieve the pain, it’s not a great idea.”  Pedro tries to explain himself. “There are other ways of feeling better, you know?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"What are you, our grandfather?" Xavier protests with a frown. "If he bought the stuff, it's because he wants to do it. So, let him do it. It’s simple, dude. We'll have a good time."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Another man walks into that immense house. He is holding cardboard bags filled with more supplies of alcohol drinks and a backpack containing CD's to be played on a Pioneer mixer. He adjusts his blue cotton shirt and removes the strands of hair that fall on his almost gray hair.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Who brought the candies?” He wraps the Frenchmen in a collective hug and smiles with emotion.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Thomas did.” Pedro answers uncertainty.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“You?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Yes.” Thomas nods.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What the hell happened to you?” The man asks with surprise. DJ Falcon knew Thomas really well. He knew that Thomas was a man who was obsessed with control. That was the reason he always refused to do drugs.  “Did the divorce made you a whole new man?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Probably.” Thomas smiles with insecurity.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Her eyes linger on that smile. Delicate, shy, not too flashy. Teeth that hide over the corner of his lips. Arms that are crossed adopting an unbalanced position. A man who apparently likes to hide from the crowd.</p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Maybe that's what she liked the most about him?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Was it the mystery that that man was hiding? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Was it the uncertainty of not knowing what he was hiding under those Ray-Ban sunglasses?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Another shot of cherry liquor to delete those involuntary thoughts. She feels an internal tickle rising in her throat.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What if I told you I brought more shit?” DJ Falcon laughs looking at the Frenchmen. “Why don’t we trip together? That would be awesome.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Do you mean---” Thomas clears his throat. “Taking an MDMA pill?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Of course, man.” DJ Falcon states.  “What did you think it was?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>DJ Falcon provokes the laughter of the French group, except Thomas. Taking ecstasy brought back horrible memories for him. Like the time when he almost died when he was 19 if it wasn’t because Guy-Man saved him in time.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>So, it was a big <em>no</em> for him.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Not for me.” He denies. “The weed is more than enough.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Well, we can’t force you to do it,” Pedro replies. “But in case you change your mind during the night, I will give you one.” </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Thomas holds a small round green pill in his hands with a peace symbol engraved on it. It reminds him of the ones he used to take in the company of Guy-Man.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Let’s going to mix some songs. DJ Mehdi is already done.”  Pedro suggests with a smile.</p>
  <p>---</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The party is being incredible. Pedro has mixed Justice's most popular tracks, including <em>'Genesis' </em>and <em>'Stress'</em>. After that, DJ Falcon has become nostalgic and has let the audience enjoy some old <em>Roulé</em> tracks. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Thomas shakes his head involuntarily after smoking the fifth puff on that joint. His eye muscles relax and he can barely control the mixer. Prince's voice in<em> "Kiss"</em> is so distorted when the substance takes effect on him that he can't even listen to the BPM’s anymore.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It’s good until he feels that something has hit his stomach quickly. An enormous pain in the lower part of his stomach. Electric particles settle on his head, feeling like he will get dizzy at any moment. Sweat soaks his forehead.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Shaking hands that can no longer control a mixer.  The Frenchman leaves that improvised DJ booth without explaining why he was suddenly leaving. He looks for the first bathroom that is accessible. Nausea is inevitable.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She winces in surprise. The lip gloss with a slightly reddish color stain the corners of her lips.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Was he chasing her or something like that? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Thomas leans over the bathroom. His back shrinks, allowing his nausea to turn into an awful liquid.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Would it be the alcohol, perhaps?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>He doesn’t remember the joints causing these terrible effects. Well, when he used to smoke them with Guy-Man, his muscles relaxed and he felt an infinite joy. But now his body is wrapped in total anxiety.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>What the hell did he buy?</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Marty McFly didn’t smoke weed."  She replies in a breath.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p><em>Why did she speak?</em> It would probably have been better if she just kept his mouth closed.  Her nerves rise when she is aware of the presence of that man.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Thomas turns to her.  She examines his faded jeans, his white sneakers, and a cotton-textured T-shirt with the <em>"Back to the Future" </em>logo on it. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"How do you know that?" He responds with a shy smile as he cleans his mouth. "Marty McFly had many dark secrets."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Which ones?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Don't you remember that scene where his mother tried to flirt with him?" He replies with a laugh. "It still traumatizes me."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"That is not a secret."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Well, it's true." Thomas laughs lightly. "But it's a sign that we don't know his personality. Have you ever seen the movie before?"</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I’m not that old.” She jokes.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"I'm not that old either."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"And how do I know that? She frowns." I only know your name and I don't remember it anymore. "</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Are you asking about my private life?"</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"No, no---” She denies quickly. "I didn't mean to say something like that."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The Frenchman shrugs and smiles warmly looking at the young woman's face.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>---</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The party is celebrated with much more intensity. As the night passes, red plastic cups are scattered on the ground, cigarette remains wrap the lawn of that garden, and the sweat runs through the forehead of all the attendees.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Two silhouettes, hidden in the darkness of a wall, hold drinks while Pedro mixes some songs.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"It’s Thomas." A masculine voice interrupts the mutual silence, after drinking a shot of Whiskey. "In case you don't remember."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“My name.”  He laughs. “I told you that the night when Pedro was celebrating his birthday.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She smiles politely and plays with the sleeve of his shirt nervously.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>T-H-O-M-A-S. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Never such a common name sounded so mysterious and so interesting.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Her cheeks flush easily. She tries to adopt a straight posture, hiding her growing feelings. But her plan is useless. Her eyes draw imaginary lines on the face of that Frenchman; abundant beard, long nose, contoured lips, brown eyes that become even darker after the lack of light, and an inclined neck that shakes when he moves his head to the rhythm of the music.</p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Oh, and those hands.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Those long thin hands.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>For a moment she wonders what he could do with them.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“So…” Thomas breaks the awkward silence cleaning his throat “Are you enjoying the party?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Not really." She replies with a fragile voice. "If we take into account that I am working for Pedro and that I must clean up the vomit once this party is over, the truth is that this is awful."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Thomas’s back shrinks and he lets out a nervous laugh.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“It’s true that the parties that Pedro celebrates are crazy.” He declares. “He didn’t used to be like that. But when Ed Banger was inaugurated, I guess he changed his mind. I completely understand him, managing us wasn’t something easy. He had too much work and now he deserves to enjoy whatever life brings him.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Did you know him before?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Yeah, we did.” He states. “He managed us for thirteen years. But he quit last year. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that we miss him. But I wish him the best.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“And how do you manage to be working and traveling all the time?” Her eyes blink nervously after looking at Thomas's face much closer. “It must be exhausting. Considering that you have to wear that enormous helmet almost every time.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“<em>Putain</em>, you know who I am!”  The man adopts a pose of surprise. Eyes that light up and lips that open showing his upper teeth.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“No, no is not that---” She responds while her voice drowns in embarrassment. “Pedro told me.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Is that the reason why you're being nice to me?" Thomas asks feigning anger. "It’s because I’m famous?"</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Excuse me?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The Frenchman's cheeks fill with air until he can no longer hide his nervous laugh.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I’m just joking.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>They both stare at each other with more intensity. Eyes that connect magically and two brilliant smiles that merge like a missing piece of a puzzle that is essential to complete it.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Another silence is present when they both look at each other. But this time it’s not uncomfortable, but sincere.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Would you like to have some Vodka?” He offers a friendly smile. “<em>Grey Goose</em> is my favorite.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I appreciate your offer.” She replies. “But I think I had enough drinks for tonight.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“You are being responsible. I understand.”  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She nods.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And it happens again.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Eyes that look at each other with desire. Lips bit at the same time. Restless hands that move quickly.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Would you mind if I ---?” The Frenchman's brown eyes contemplate her lips.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She raises an eyebrow with curiosity without knowing what that mysterious man wants to say.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Merde, I mean you look---” He stutters uncontrollably.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>What the hell is happening to him?</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He used to be good at this. In expressing his feelings if he felt something beyond his control.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"I don't even know what I'm saying, but ..."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Another shot of Gray Goose vodka gives him the courage he needed. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He didn’t hesitate this time.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He approaches her, breaking the little distance between them. His hand holds her face while his elongated fingers explore every element with a slow touch.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She doesn't even have the time to stop him. She simply cannot formulate any possible word.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>But did she really wanted to stop him?</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>His touch was breathtaking.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>His bony hands hold her waist, drawing her to him, with the desire that he needed since a first meeting occurred. He contemplates her face deeply, appreciating every feature. A seductive look, with those brown eyes, that makes her legs weak. His heavy breathing clings to his neck brushing against her skin.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She responds hungrily.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Their bodies pressed together heatedly against the wall, breathing heavily as their lips meet.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He tasted like honey.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She runs her fingers slowly down to his back discovering every part of his slim body.  He intertwines his fingers with hers, allowing their tongues to unite.  Slow and delicate touches that make her feel above heaven.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He stops their kiss pleading for oxygen, leaving her wanting more.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I didn’t know you could do that.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He smiles with anticipation.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“This.” She smiles with a sparkle in her eyes. “The thing that we did a second before.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He leans towards her causing a second kiss between them. Lips that explore unknown points. Fingers that trace hidden areas of two excited bodies. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He bites her lip by sliding his tongue over hers.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What the fuck are you doing guys?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>A man contemplates the scene with surprise.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Xavier adjusts his white Metallica shirt. His jaw drops to the floor as his eyebrows rise.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was caught.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She shouldn't had done something like that.</p>
  <p> </p>
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